


All Our Dawns

by KhamanV



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Family, Gen, Hope, Love, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhamanV/pseuds/KhamanV
Summary: Young Thor has a problem, a suddenly sickly and withdrawn Loki who won't confide what's troubling him. With nothing else to do but turn to their mother for help, it's up to Frigga to find a way to help Loki walk out of the dark - not only for the sake of his childhood, but his future.





	

**All Our Dawns**

_“The wound is the place the light enters you.”_ ~ Rumi.

 

There was little in life Thor loved most above all, for he was still at the stage of his childhood where everything seemed bright and new and possible. He was full of that wonder almost every hour of the day, running from one thing to another under the warm eye of the Asgardian sun, dragging his friends along with him through the soft fields in years before they became places of war, squirming with eager energy at every royal supper without a thought to his future responsibilities. He was a light that could not be contained, a spark of fire that renewed what it touched. But all that said, there was yet that little he loved so much that it swelled inside him. Mother, her braids bound up and her skirts clutched carelessly so that she could run with him if he asked, laughing at his joy. He lived for her smile of approval, and every hug carried the sweet whisper of her perfume. Father, whose pride in him was like another sun itself. His rough, war-torn hands seemed that much softer when holding his son’s within them, and though his smiles were rarer, that made them all the more precious.

And loved even beyond them, there was his younger brother. Loki was always smaller than he, seeming almost fragile until anyone else looked into those laurel green eyes and saw something harder and sharper than any forged dwarven steel hidden there. Determination and wit made up for anything the lithe frame might ever lack, and in those hours Thor could draw him out into the sun to play, Loki was always the faster one. Fleet as the winter wind, and never to be caught. These little races were one easy way to draw a smile from him, though Thor found it easier than most to find the joy his brother was capable of. A gift of a book always another, and more than once he went to Frigga for a suggestion only to snitch away that wanted tome from the great library to his brother’s arms.

For Thor, Loki’s eyes held no steel. Only that same fire and joy, returned and strengthened. That was how, without words, Thor knew he would always be able to rely on his brother’s love. Now and in the future, that unknowable thing he dwelled little on.

And that was also how Thor knew when something was wrong. The signs of that were always subtle with Loki. Even at this young age, just now fumbling with Mother’s shared arts and small magics, he already held some mastery with another kind of illusion. He was forever guarded and careful with what he showed on his face - but not from Thor. His mastery there was not yet complete.

First the youthful face with its mop of sleek, dark hair seemed to droop ever more towards the fine marble stones of the city pathways as they walked, refusing to talk about what dwelled in his mind. Then the small, slender hands worried and worked at each other during these walks, fidgeting at the edges of parchments as he read. Still, he would not talk. Subtle things, building a gnaw of worry inside Thor’s belly. Thor drew him out every day and still won his smiles for his effort, but then the brow would furrow over again and Loki would slip silently back into his rooms, with his books.

And then whatever ailed him grew more pronounced; the eyes seeming darker and more troubled in a face that contrasted a waxier white. That day, he would not play in the fields at all. He remained inside, with his books and his first few magics, silent and alone until nightfall and its royal supper.

There was nothing more of that he could take, so Thor braced him that night before he could hide away again after dinner. He tried to keep his voice low but noble and strong. Some method of keeping Loki from shaking off his hand. “Brother, what’s wrong? Will you let me take you to the healers?”

Loki wouldn’t look at him, allowing only a small shake of his head. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly not. You look nigh taken with a fever, and you’ve not had one of those since you were a baby.” A strange, harsh time that had been for the tiny figure. Asgardians weren’t often prone to sickness, but yet, that particularly warm summer had brought a chill into a child then less than a year old. It had not helped ideas of the child’s fragility. Eir had sat with Frigga for long nights, keeping Loki’s fever down through magic and medicine both, and he had pulled through fine as the harsh summer gave way at last to cooler eves. Thor, only just past being a toddler himself, had visited often, sitting with them until he dozed off. The love and worry he had for his brother had already become a firm thing. He thought quickly - no, the weather was temperate enough yet. No Muspelheim heat, nor Jotun winter here. “Come then, either tell me what it is or let me help you to them.”

“It’s nothing, Thor. I’m not sick.” It was almost grudging, that statement.

“I’m _worried_.”

“Don’t fret at me like that.” The slender arm yanked away from his hand. Loki wouldn’t look at him, cheeks still round and young reddening with anger. “Don’t… paw at me. I’m fine. It’s nothing.” One glance at last, almost furtive but also gentling slightly. “I only want to go read for a while. Same as ever. Just let me be, Thor.”

“Loki, please.” He reached out his hand again but stopped. Loki could get prickly with too much contact pushed on him. It would drive him away entirely, if Thor overreached. “Will you still come out with me tomorrow? Buri’s got a new toy chariot, he’s very pleased. We were going to play soldiers in the western fields, standing guard against the demons of Hel.” Inspiration took him. “You could be the high sorcerer again! I know Bor teases, but he still is scared of the time you threatened to drop all the bone legions with a firestorm spell.”

“Ruddy well could do it, too.” A ghost of a smile filtered back. “Well, maybe not yet.” Then it was gone again. “I’ll think about it, Thor. Is that good enough?”

Forgetting his own wisdom, Thor reached out and flung both arms around his smaller brother, pulling him close. “Please do. All right?”

Loki fumbled his way free, but wouldn’t say anything more.

. . .

Loki would not leave his rooms the next morning, not until the staff called for breakfast and he had no choice but to attend. Thor slipped from his own rooms behind him, watching Loki walk with his head down in silence, knowing because he had spied all night, that Loki’s candles had lit again after midnight and had not blown out until dawn. Thor felt that that dull knot of worry build into a coil in his belly, also knowing full well that the high sorcerer of Asgard would not be facing the legions of demons that day, were it up to Loki. Over a breakfast he could not taste, he looked to Odin’s one eye to see if he saw, and saw nothing there to say he saw the trouble at his table.

He bit his lip and looked next to Frigga, and there the relief hit his spine like a hammer. The glances were quick and careful, but the Queen did also watch over Loki as he ate in that withdrawn, cool silence. In her eyes, Thor saw she noted what he had, and met his eyes next as well.

A small curl of her hand as Loki looked away at a clatter of noise from the guards as they changed shift, and Thor smiled fast, acknowledging it and knowing she surely would be able to help. They would talk later.

“Mother,” said Loki, quiet but also looking back now. Thor wondered if he had somehow caught their silent conversation. “Can I have access to the upper library today?”

As if nothing had passed between her and Thor just now, the Queen put her golden fork back across her plate with elegant care and looked at him, thoughtful. “I thought you were for the fields today, with your brother. A good day for it, Loki. Rain the next few.”

“I know, but I thought of something I want to study. One of the theoretical texts by Rashan, about the glyph-shields he’s seen some of the early Midgardian sorcerers design. They’re very simple, but I wonder what could be built upon them.”

“Mmm. Iannes and Mambres’s old runics. Don’t dismiss their simplicity too quickly, Loki. Secrets hide in the shadows left when we look away from the light. Midgard is home to a young race, to be sure, but the stones they walk upon are ancient. By the time you’re old enough to see them as they are, they may have some power to contend with.”

Odin snorted, low enough to be ignored politely.

“Then can I?”

She leaned back on the bench, pulling the thick silk of her sleeves into her lap as she examined him. Thor saw her fingers pick against each other, a habit of consideration she’d already passed to her younger son. “I think you should try to enjoy some sun today while it lasts, and take your time with those tomes when the poor weather comes.”

The pale, almost waxy brow furrowed and he looked away, unable to hide his disappointment.

“Three days of ill rain and a harsh wind come to us. I give you all three of those amongst the tomes you like, and you’ll bemoan the loss of a fine day of light?” Frigga made it sound gentle, not a chide. She threw a sharp look at her shifting husband while Thor glanced between them both, nervous as every child is when they watch their parents hold a silent battle. Frigga plainly won, however, and Odin settled again, whatever word he was about to add to this minor fray dying behind the grey beard. “Take a few moments in your room after breakfast to prepare your notes for tomorrow, and then go out to play.”

Thor looked down at his plate, studiously acting like he didn’t see the word _but_ start to form on Loki’s small mouth, the motion stopping just as abruptly as Frigga gave him a look not quite as sharp as the one she’d just given Asgard’s king. A royal order, then. The high sorcerer would stand for Asgard, but perhaps not as freely as he might’ve wanted.

Still, though. Perhaps it might perk him up. Loki scraped at his plate and then finally gave up and asked to be excused, to go do as he was bid.

. . .

For what it was worth, Thor considered later, the high sorcerer had stood beside him and his friends with as much verve as his withdrawn countenance could muster. The skeleton lords of under-Hel had, as the coarser people of Asgard might say, gotten their arses kicked in quite handily. With Thor at his back with the soft wooden mallet in his hands - a blunt weapon to scatter those magical bones, of course - Loki’s own hands stayed held high as they brought together a handful of weak sparks. In their mind’s eyes there was only war and hellfire and the glory of Asgard forever strong against its enemies.

And at the end, to his delight, Loki took another of his big, swallowing hugs with a little more acceptance than he had the eve before, even allowing another slight smile. Still, though, he looked frail and distant.

Still worried but a little soothed by this day, Thor slipped away after to go find Mother in her solar, where she almost always was in the handful of hours before dinner. The handmaidens led him up, practically losing him amidst the swish of colorful flowing skirts and glints of gold embroidery. He felt like he was pushing through a choppy lake of fabric, puffing his way to freedom through their perfumes as a couple of the younger ones giggled. And then in a rush they left him to all but stagger his way to the bench across from the Queen.

She pulled a needle through the back of the piece she was working on, frowning once as she assessed the emerald knot she was leaving behind. “Did you enjoy your day today, Thor?”

“I did, Mother.”

“And your brother?”

He bit his lip. On one level, he had to admit he had been basically setting himself up to tattle on Loki. And on the other, this was Mother, who seldom missed a trick. “He had fun.”

“Grudgingly.”

His hands laced together, tight and nervous now. “That’s Loki, really.”

“Not always. Not often with you.” Frigga put down her work and examined him critically. Everything he could have told her was going to be clear on his face. “Is he sleeping?”

He winced.

“So, no.” She leaned back in the wooden chair, making it creak softly. “Not an illness. I asked Eir about that already, because I can see it writ all over your face.”

“Is he going to die?” It came out in a blurt, a fear that had lurked deep down within his belly, under taut muscles. The reason he’d sat up all night, watching at his brother’s door for some clue as to what was going on.

Frigga reached out and cupped his face with a gentle hand. “No, Thor. He is not. I promise you.”

His lip gnawed again, not letting it tremble. “What is it?”

The hand fell away. “I’ll talk with him tomorrow. I’ll find out.” She leaned in to kiss him on the forehead. “And I might not tell you what we say after, because he might not speak to me otherwise. But I will also promise you that whatever it is, he will be helped.”

“I don’t need to know. Just if he’s going to be all right.”

“You love him very much, don’t you?”

“Not even a question!” The blurt put a smile on her face. Something about the warmth of it tumbled the rest of the words out of him. A jumble of thoughts, spilling like tears. “I’m just scared. I remember when he was sick and I don’t want him to be again and I don’t know what’s going on because he’s just been so strange the last week. And, and he won’t talk to me but he’ll always talk to me it’s just that he won’t now, and I don’t want to lose him because he’s my _brother_ and I don’t know what to _do._ ”

“Sometimes we simply don’t know what to do. Sometimes there aren’t easy answers.”

He looked at her, aghast. This was an uncertainty entering his idea of life that he had never been prepared for. “But-“

“But then we fight on and look for them.” She reached out again, taking up both his hands. “We do not give up on what we love. Do you hear me?” She let him go. “Whatever is wrong is almost certainly not what we think or made of the worst of our fears. I’ll talk to him, and we will proceed from there.”

Troubled, he just looked up at her.

“Be at peace, Thor. And now you can sit with me for a while. Calm yourself, and hold the spindle for me. Can you do that? Just sit and be calm for a space before dinner. Dull work for you, but it eases the mind, which is why I do it.” She patted a space on the bench beside her, smiling down at him when he slid onto it with a boy’s hyperactive reluctance.

. . .

Loki stifled the yawn that wanted to fight its way out his throat, moving to the next stack and looking up in a child’s overdramatic annoyance as he realized the second book he wanted was up on a shelf at least twice his own height. With a similar flourish, he slammed the book he was already holding onto a wooden desk, feeling grumpily satisfied at the way the book’s thump reverberated through the silent rows of the upper library wing. His arm ached slightly.

Before he could cast about for the desk’s stool to try and make up some of the difference between him and it, he heard the soft rush of skirts approaching. He didn’t turn around at the good natured and not at all condescending question. “Would you like help, my son, or would you prefer some quick practice at a levitation spell?”

He stared down at the floor. “I’m having trouble with spell stabilization at that level.” In truth, he was having trouble with his concentration entirely. But he wasn’t going to admit that until forced.

Frigga’s arm cast a shadow over him as she reached up to delicately pluck the tome from its place. She handed it to him just as gently, then dropped herself onto a seat nearby. “You’ve got your brother worried.”

“He come running to tell whatever it is he thinks he’s cooked up in his mind?” It came out far sharper than he wanted and he bit off his own words with a wince. He tried again. “What does he think he’s worried about? I already said, I’m not sick. I’m not some glassy little _toy_.” No, that came out just as brittle. He sighed, hugging the book to his narrow chest. “I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t come running, I bade him to me having already seen for myself your countenance of late. Loki, you can practice your illusions and your masks, but as the one who teaches and encourages you, your ruses will never trick me.” He heard another rustle, listening to the soft cadence of her voice. Never chiding, always pulling. It was true, it was difficult to hide from her. “You won’t tell him, and nor will I. But please tell me. What’s wrong, if not some illness you try to hide?”

“Nothing at all. It’s nothing.” He took a breath, trying to still his exhausted mind. “I don’t need the worry.”

“You’re not sleeping. It’s plain in your face. If you’re not sick now, you will be. So what causes the restlessness?”

His fingers worried at the edges of the book’s cover, feeling every bump of the woven linen. _Gods_ , he was tired. Tears threatened.

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, in a tone that meant that was exactly it. “It’s nothing, anyone would tell you so.”

“And I’ll tell no one, so do please tell me.”

“I did.” He chugged in another breath, feeling it hick, losing control of it. “And it’s nothing.”

“Not to you, it isn’t.” She reached out and pulled at his arm, turning him around. He closed his eyes against her study, knowing she could read him as plain as the old runes. “But nothing to someone else. All right, my young secret-keeper. Share up a secret.”

“I don’t want to sleep anymore.” He snuffled, hating that he couldn’t seem to stop it. “I just don’t want to. Is there a spell for that?”

“Plenty, Loki, and they all have one thing in common.” She laughed to cut the casual morbidity of a sorceress’s joke. He almost giggled, too, getting it. “But let’s not jump to that. I told your brother you were at no risk of death, let’s not make me a liar. You must sleep, for your health and sanity.” She squeezed his arms, smiling when he cracked one eye open to finally look at her. “I now have a guess. Tell me plain.”

He swallowed, admitting what he believed was a shame. “Nightmares. That’s all. I’m having nightmares. They keep me up and now I don’t want to go back.”

Frigga looked relieved, then worried again. “The damned warriors. They tell children to not fear what’s in their minds because they think it keeps you children, but I wonder if it’s because they’ve seen so much gore by day they’ve gone numb at night. A young, free mind can see horrors of a type adults forget.”

Her disdain was a blunt thing. It cut a little tension from his shoulders. “The warrior way rules Asgard.”

“Yes, well, but not all of it.” She pulled at his arm, making him sit by her and cuddle in. “Tell a little of your nightmares, if you can bear it.”

He was silent for a long time, looking for what pieces he felt he could dare to bring out. “Mostly they’re dark. Just… just this almost frozen dark. And I can’t wake up in it, it’s like being strangled. Trapped in a block of black ice, more of it wedged in my throat. And I see monsters through the ice, things I can’t…” He trailed off. “And some of them have eyes like me, and some don’t, and, and there’s one with one eye that’s just furious with me… and sometimes the ice is a mirror. I’m afraid whatever these monsters are, they’re actually _me_.”

Her arm tightened around him. He could breathe in a soft, powdery scent of new flowers and something else warm, like sunlight.

“I can’t escape them, I can’t run, I can’t even move. Sometimes they say things, whispering things at me I can’t remember but I know they’re terrible. And I’m always afraid. What if they’re something that happens tomorrow? What if they’re something I change into? What if they’re people I know? What if everything changes and becomes ruined?” He was breathing shallowly now, and he reached up a soft green sleeve to drag it across his eyes. They already felt swollen. “What if there isn’t a tomorrow? So I don’t want to sleep, because something horrible might happen if I sleep and I let the monsters out.”

“Loki.” Her head came down atop his, and he wanted to pull back. He was going to get tears all over her braids, but she didn’t seem to care. “You are not wrong to be afraid, whatever the warriors tell you.”

“They already think I’m a freak! I’m too small!” It came out, the other side of his nightmares. “I’m not supposed to be broken by dreams, it’ll prove them right.”

“And you’re quicker and wiser than most of them, even small, even young. You have a long, long time to grow, and in that time you can prove their assumptions wrong. Strength is not the same as a warrior’s might. Their idea of creating greatness is sometimes terrible and merciless. There are other ways.” She lifted her head a little, her chin now resting gently atop the crown of his jet black hair. Honey-gold strands drifted down in sharp contrast. “But you need to sleep, and the first thing you’re going to have to fight are these nightmares. I can’t do that for you, so this will become the first time you need to find that strength.”

“How?”

“Some can control their dreams, but that takes a long time and is usually begun in peace. So I won’t tell you that’s your solution for now.” Frigga took her chin away and instead leaned back so he could look up at her through the colorful, wet blur that was his sight. “You must fix yourself firmly instead. Find a place to ground, and then fight them back.” She looked away, jutting her face towards a broad window that was set in the far wall of the library. “Look out there. How high and bright our sun is. So bright we cannot stare full into it. Not every world has a light like that above them. Some do, and I find it precious every time.”

“I don’t understand.”

She put her fingers under his chin and turned his face to look out the window with her. He almost winced at how bright the afternoon was. “Every awful night has its dawn, Loki. Every morrow, that bright star rises over us and gives us its warmth. Shadows survive it and might even grow in the lee of black mountains or other such hiding places, because that’s the nature of such things, but the light of that dawn is still something that thrives. We can save ourselves by it. On some worlds, ships on vast and empty seas use it to know their route when all other guidance is lost. Because no matter what, it’s there with us. The light protects, if you know how to reach for it. Every new dawn is a beginning. Every new dawn reminds us the night is worth fighting through.”

“But I’ve read the books. Sometimes the monsters win.”

“Sometimes. A battle here or there. Even a war for some time. And the dawn still comes to shelter the survivors. They fight on. In time, the nightmare fades. Perhaps not always, but you will come to see it diminished. If you are brave enough to try.”

His brow, still too pale even for his own fair nature, furrowed deep as he considered that. “What if I feel like I can’t ever wake up? What if I can’t see the sun?”

“You imagine it, as bright and as powerful as possible. You make your memory into power that cannot be denied, and remember the warmth of everything that came before. You cling to that. If you are a sailor lost in your own mind, create the sun and let it guide you free.”

Loki was silent at first. Then, small and dry, “Dream control might be easier.”

She laughed like a bell, unable to help it against his stodgy child’s cynicism. “You will always be you, and I think you ought work to make that your strength. Try what I say for a time, Loki. Look for the dawn and cling to it. You have more than enough will within you to create light in the darkest of hours, but what you also need is the will to try and to never give up.”

“Is that really enough? For all of it?”

“Well.” Her laughter calmed, but a smile still played at the corner of her lips. “There’s also the delight of proving all your doubters wrong as you someday thrive despite the things in the dark.”

He took that in, his face quirking a little at the idea of putting one over on enemies, and then he laughed, too. She hugged him tight, and then pulled the book he’d unceremoniously dropped over to them both. “Now then. For today, I suggest you redo your rituals of concentration before working on the runics. Can you do that? Focus yourself. It’ll help you later tonight.”

Doubt crossed his face, but only for a moment. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

“All you can do. For another dawn.” She kissed the top of his head. “Let’s begin.”

. . .

Loki wanted to scream again, but found he couldn’t. There was no air left within him for the effort, his jaw ached. The cell was already trashed, leaving him no more catharsis to be found there. His frenetic burst of grieving energy already drained him of anything else he could muster, magic or otherwise. Crushed red berries dripped from his foot, mingling with a tiny thread of blood from where he’d physically struck out at the small table. He sighed instead, heaving his chest and its torn tunic with the restless weariness of a high-strung cat.

She was gone. His last hope. Their last words passed in anger and untruth, and his voice after helping to end that conversation in a final, bitter way.

Something trembled inside him, sharp, like a broken bone pressing into the fragile surface of a vital artery. Memories wandered, their very realness replacing the nightmares of his youth and lancing him apart. The monsters had left the nightmares, smashed out of the mirrors, and wore his eyes like trophies. His face felt numb but his mind simply wouldn’t stop. There was no balance here, no ground, no center. It had all been dashed into ruins. There was nothing left.

He breathed, shallow, knowing the funeral had already happened. Knowing, as the All-Father ordered, he would never see his mother again.

One breath. Another. Each one hurt; glass for lungs, ash for blood, acid for saliva.

His mind worked, shoving at itself, looking for theoreticals in the way he’d always trained himself. Thor would come eventually, and then what? He had no brother anymore. That was plain in the man’s eyes. Would be plainer yet when he came. The darkness was here. What was left?

Vengeance. There might be vengeance, of one form or another. Thor was fool enough for that, and born with a berserker’s rage. And what after? More vengeance? Freedom was a lie, Loki thought he knew that well enough now.

The midnight hours were here. Malekith’s dark world had existed all along. He didn’t need old artifacts for that, nor an army of changed monsters to do his bidding. The darkness was within the living, and it spread perfectly well without a conscious drive behind it.

He bared his teeth, air rattling through them like a hiss. Everything hurt. He shut his eyes and there everything hurt worse. Memories gleamed again like blades. He couldn’t hide from them. The sensation of her chin atop his head. The smell of her perfume. The way she never quite chided him for his mistakes, only guided him towards other ways of thinking. He opened his eyes again to flee from it all, staring hollowly at the blank whiteness of his cell and the red that spread itself across it. He wanted her back. He would do _anything_ to get her back.

And there would never be any method for that. Death made no such bargains. He was forced to close his eyes again, a shred of moisture left within him stinging his dry, abused lids, found her smile there, wanting to die. Wanting to live. Vengeance. It kept coming back to that, blood in the dark, gleaming on the talons of the beast.

With a struggle, he tried to find his center. If Thor came, if that might be how this would play from here, he needed a plan. At least the shape of one.

Still, her smile haunted his mind. Sometimes sad, sometimes gentle, always for him.

He brought his hands up to his face, squeezing the dark in to try and hide her away from himself, the way he couldn’t before. Sparks glanced before him, instead. For an unbalanced, shaking second it seemed like his own hands smelled like hers.

The memory cut him, unbidden. Her voice in the dark of his mind. _For another dawn. The night is worth fighting through._

Was it, though? He didn’t know. For her hope, Frigga had been lost to the dark forever. What hope was there for him? Thor would come in time. There would be decisions to make then. He might escape, but he would never be free.

Loki dropped his hands from his face and looked at them, dull and exhausted. Even if he stole vengeance, maybe even if he killed Odin, what did that create? There were still all the other things waiting in the dark. Whether he fed them or not, whether they were all drawn close to Asgard and Midgard by him or not. Where was _that_ in Frigga’s defense against the night?

Breathing. Like a trapped animal. Why not? He was.

And then, not sure why, he turned his hands up and created a small gleam of magic in his palm, a brightly shining light like a star in miniature. He looked into it for a while, not feeling any warmth from this tiny flicker of illusion, but he closed his eyes and, unbidden, he remembered.

He remembered a day standing back to back with a beardless Thor, both of them children, both of them carrying toys that passed for artifact weapons, and before them, as real as if he could smell the rotted meat lingering on the bones, he saw the legions of Hel. He hadn’t wanted to be there that day, standing amidst this childish notion of great battle, but he was nonetheless bound by Frigga’s order. And to that end, his hands raised, the fire came down upon the death-Queen’s legions. He could almost smell the charring of their bones, knowing that the pair and their friends holding the line back at the castle had taken a great victory when there had been almost no hope. Ragnarok had come wrapped in Death’s own cloak, but they had withstood it. Together.

And though he still had not slept that night, too troubled by the things that wove themselves into his nightmares, he slept a little the next… remembering all the dawns he and his brother had seen together, when things could still seem that much brighter under the unstoppable light of hope.

Loki opened his eyes, realizing his face was wet again. His hand had clenched shut, destroying the tiny magelight. Yet now he felt the warmth. Not of the illusion he had made, but of the sun he had not seen in weeks, and the warmth of a golden braid laid against his cheek.

Yes. There were choices to come. He spread open his hand, looking into the sickly white of his palm again, seeing the sun rise over Asgard in better days. He would help Thor if asked, whether or not they were still brothers. And after?

His fingers flexed. He didn’t know about after.

But there was a choice to come then, too. And somewhere in it, there might be another sunrise to look for. Some other glimpse of Frigga’s memory to keep.

That much might be worth the fight. For better or for worse.

For another dawn.

~ _Fin_

11/10/16. _All relevant rights remain in the hands of Marvel with no infringement intended_. _All our hopes over the next four years will be in the dawns to come._


End file.
